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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432689">Still Moving Bodies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostdaysunscathed/pseuds/mostdaysunscathed'>mostdaysunscathed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:29:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostdaysunscathed/pseuds/mostdaysunscathed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His muscles shook from the strain, sweat was dripping into his eyes, and yet Osamu could not stop. He would never stop.</p><p>Stopping meant being alone with his thoughts.</p><p>Stopping just meant being… alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu &amp; Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu &amp; Kita Shinsuke &amp; Ojiro Aran</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Still Moving Bodies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Toss after toss. Spike after spike. Set after set.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu was in the gym long past the time everyone else went home. One glance at the windows and he could tell that the sky was pitch-black. He turned back to the net.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘‘Samu! Again!’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His muscles shook from the strain, sweat was dripping into his eyes, and yet he could not stop. He would never stop.</p><p> </p><p>Stopping meant being alone with his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Stopping just meant being… alone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘C’mon ‘Tsumu, let’s just go home. I’m tired.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a roar of frustration, Osamu spiked another ball, his wrist snapping forward and slamming it across the court. It bounced in a high arc, thudding against the ground until it was steadily rolling. Just as he was about to retrieve the stray ball, it came to a slow stop in front of—</p><p> </p><p>“S-senpai?” Osamu asked quietly, voice raspy with breathlessness. He wiped the sweat off his forehead using the back of his hand. “What are you guys doin’ here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not your senpai anymore, Osamu.” Aran chuckled, leaning down to pick up the ball while Kita gave him a small, but unendingly kind smile. “We’re first years all over again, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu tried to smirk the way he used to, but judging by the sad expressions his seniors were making, he was falling flat. He was most likely grimacing instead. He hesitated, loathe to quit practicing, but the cart was empty and it was definitely time for him to clean up the gym anyways.</p><p> </p><p>At the very least, it was time to go to his home—well. His house.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as he could catch his breath, he jogged across the gym, the three of them met halfway across the court. What started as pity grew to full-blown concern as Kita and Aran saw him close-up.</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu... have you lost weight?” Kita asked, reaching out to poke one of his sallowed cheeks before thinking better of it at the last moment, retracting his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“What gave it away?” He laughed mirthlessly, unsure where to look between the two of them. It was hard to look people in the eyes these days.</p><p> </p><p>Aran and Kita looked at each other in a silent conversation, which Osamu politely ignored. Aran spoke next. “I know you’re probably sick and tired of hearing this, but we’re always here to help, Osamu.” His words were not without their usual benevolence, but there was a candor there that Osamu could appreciate. “Please speak to someone. Reach out to us. We want to be someone you can rely on.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu’s eyes widened, haunted by his regrets, half-there shadows lurking underneath his skin. He shouldn’t <em> need </em> another person to rely on. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew Aran heard him nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>Kita let out a sad noise. He had always been too understanding for his own good. “We heard that you’re planning to sign onto the MSBY Black Jackals next year,” he said, tone even. A statement, not a question.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu sharply inhaled through his teeth. “‘M guessin’ someone let the cat outta the bag,” he drawled. “Sunarin or Gin?”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither,” Aran confessed. “It was your mother.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu froze, permafrost settling in his bones.</p><p> </p><p>Aran scratched the back of his neck. “She’s worried about you, Osamu. She thinks you’re unwell.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Osamu mumbled, voice very, very small. There was ice on his tongue. “Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>This time Kita wasted no time stepping forward and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. His torso was broad, sure, but he was noticeably scrawnier than the last time he had seen him. Osamu could tell he knew when he stiffened, holding onto him just that much tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still quite sweaty, Kita-san.” Osamu moved to wrench his arms away but the man was not having it today. Kita just shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>Aran dropped the ball he was holding and came forward as well, arms circling the pair in a protective embrace. </p><p> </p><p>This was the most physical contact Osamu had had in a long time.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you’re making the right decision?” Kita asked, his query muffled through the fabric of the Inarizaki jersey.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Osamu’s answer came without hesitation and was void of emotion. What other choice did he have?</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure it’s <em> your </em>dream and not your brother’s?” Aran asked, quietly, as if Osamu was delicate, as if speaking the words any louder would break him.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.” Osamu’s knees felt like they would give out at any moment. “What point is there in dreamin’,” he began, trying not to break his composure. “If my best friend is gone?”</p><p> </p><p>Kita’s breath hitched and Aran went unnaturally still. </p><p> </p><p>“I knew we wouldn’t be side by side forever, but we were always a half of one another, y’know? He took all of himself when he bit the bullet, but when he left, he took half of me too.” Osamu’s smile was bittersweet but Kita flinched when he met his hundred-meter stare. His eyes were not too unlike that of a taxidermied animal—lifeless, unnervingly empty. “I have to do this. I have to.” Osamu gripped his left forearm, pressing hard enough to leave fingernail-shaped scratches in his skin. He felt half a person. “I... there’s nothin' else to live for.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that true?” Aran’s silence was loud, speaker static settling in Osamu’s ears. “Do you believe you have…have nothing else to live for?” </p><p> </p><p><em> Yes, Osamu </em> wanted to say. <em> Yes, it’s true, because Atsumu was like the sun, a supernova, an ever-burning star and the center of their galaxy, and Osamu merely leeched off of his light. Atsumu was always the source. It always came back to Atsumu. Volleyball was always his dream, and I thought it wasn’t mine, and now the last days of his life are gone and he never even made it out of high school. </em>Instead, he dutifully says, “No. I was exaggeratin',” as if he hasn’t spent every night since the funeral sobbing in his brother’s bed with a safety blade perched above his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>Kita didn’t give a hard look but a soft one, but somehow that hurt more.</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head. “My dreams ended with ‘Tsumu, but I want his to live on.” He tried holding in his sobs, but couldn’t help the way his lungs seized. “I guess... I guess he was the happier twin after all, because I never wanted t’know a world without ‘im.” The tears began rolling down his cheeks, unspeakable grief silently making itself known. “Never. I wish I had always stayed by his side.” He hung his head in shame. <em> I wish I had told him I loved him more. </em></p><p> </p><p>Aran ruffled his hair in a familiar motion. “Osamu, it’s not your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do <em>you</em> know?” he burst, shoving his seniors away, anger tearing him apart at the seams. Osamu felt like he was imploding, and his skin itched with the urge to <em> destroy. </em> He scratched furiously at his forearms. “You weren’t fuckin' here! You didn’t even show up to his fuckin' funeral! The last thing<em> I</em> did was snap at him! I don’t even remember the last time I told him I loved him. I never got to say goodbye. He walked out of <em> this </em> gym here<em>—that </em> set of doors—and <em>never</em> came home. And it was because I was too lazy to keep up with him. It’s—It was our last chance to play together and I wasn’t even tryin'. How are you so <em> sure </em> I wasn’t the reason h-he d— “ He choked, tears spilling in excess, unable to say it.</p><p> </p><p>A pair of gentle hands pried his hand from where it was scraping against his forearm. Oh. He was bleeding.</p><p> </p><p>Kita pulled out a handkerchief, tenderly dabbing at the blood spilling over Osamu’s left arm. That was the arm he used to spike Atsumu’s tosses, once upon a time.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry we couldn’t come to the funeral,” Kita whispered. “I should have been there for you. Both of you.” He bowed his head. “You’ve been suffering so quietly all this time, carrying this burden on your own, and we didn’t lift a finger.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” Aran stepped closer, clasping his right shoulder. “It was never your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu fell to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>“My brother’s dead, isn’t he?” he asked, voice broken. </p><p> </p><p>The silence was enough of an answer.</p><p> </p><p>Aran and Kita crouched down and let him sob into their arms. It was the least they could do.</p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow, Osamu would talk to the league representative and call off the contract. Tomorrow, he would admit to his parents that he needed help before he made his parents lose their only child left, 6 feet under just like his brother. Tomorrow, he would visit Atsumu’s grave with a bouquet of dandelions and tell him about all the ways he had loved him, how he was going to wear his jersey to the Spring Interhigh, and how, maybe, just maybe, he would miss being mistaken for his twin.</p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow, he would tell Suna the truth and let his team support him.</p><p> </p><p><em>Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.</em> A day his brother would never see again.</p><p> </p><p>Today, he would grieve.</p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow, he would begin to heal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dandelions - Perseverance, healing, and the rising sun.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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